


Love Like Gasoline

by tsukinobara



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Community: spn_cinema, Contemporary AU, It's 'cause I love the cars, M/M, Too many characters for one comment field
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinobara/pseuds/tsukinobara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen has seventy-two hours to assemble a crew to scout, steal, and deliver fifty cars.  Oh, and stay out of jail.  And somehow make it up to Jared for leaving six years ago.  Piece of cake, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Like Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> A retelling of _Gone in Sixty Seconds_ for spn-cinema. Thanks to wrenlet for suggesting Frederick, beadslut for catching my typos, and any Los Angelenos who might be reading for forgiving my geographical vagueness. (For extra detail, you can see all fifty cars [here](http://tsuki-no-bara.livejournal.com/1416701.html).)

Jensen left LA six years ago – he had his reasons, and a full half of them were "if I keep stealing cars I'm going to jail" – and the last person he expects to see hanging around the go-kart track where he's working today is Chris. Not that they haven't seen each other in all that time, because they have, once or twice, but Chris looks unusually serious. And he generally lets Jensen know he's coming.

"Hey, stranger!" Jensen calls, waving at him. "Gimme a sec!" He gently thumps the top of the helmet of the kid sitting in the go-kart he just had to untangle from one of the tire barriers. "You're good," he tells the kid. "Go get 'em." A shove and the go-kart is on its way, and Jensen hops across the track to get to Chris, gesturing at one of the other guys working to take over.

Chris definitely has his serious face on. "You gotta come home," he says. "Is there somewhere private we can talk?"

"What happened?" _Did someone die?_

"It's the kid. Jared. Not so much a kid any more. He's in trouble."

Jensen takes Chris into the office, which isn't the most private place they could find but is empty right now, and Chris reports, in an even tone of voice but with telltale "he's a dumbass who's going to get himself killed" grimaces, that Jared has a crew, they've been boosting cars, working for a new guy named Sheppard who Jensen doesn't know, and have managed to fuck things up in fairly spectacular fashion.

"He drove a Porsche through the dealership window," Jensen repeats.

"Got cops on his ass." Chris looks pissed and worried at the same time. "He's on the hook for a lot, man. I've done some work for this Sheppard, and he's not the kind of guy you fuck with. You gotta come back."

"And do what?" But as soon as he asks the question he knows the answer. _Throw his name and reputation around. Talk to Sheppard. Cut a new deal. Save Jared's ass._

"Shit," he mutters. Six years and some things never change. Sometimes Jensen thinks the specters of all the cars he ever stole will follow him the rest of his life. But he can't find it in himself to be upset that Jared seems to be following him too.

He gets a few things together and Chris drives both of them back to LA to meet this Sheppard guy, who works out of a warehouse surrounded by a junkyard and turns out to be a Brit who collects and restores Arts and Crafts furniture, talks smack about American sports, and has made a name for himself the past few years in the business of chop shops, car theft, and illegal exports and resales.

And his solution to Jared's – and now Jensen's – problem is to make Jensen responsible for delivering the cars that Jared and his crew couldn't.

All fifty of them.

By nine o'clock Friday morning.

Today is Tuesday.

And when Jensen and Chris both start to protest – that doesn't sound possible, and besides, Jensen's on the straight and narrow now, he's keeping his nose clean and staying out of the car boost business – Sheppard demonstrates exactly how he's managed to flourish and why he's not the kind of man you fuck with. Namely, he locks his incompetent, incapable, or just plain screwup employees in junker cars and puts them in the crusher.

"JARED!" Jensen yells, lunging at the crusher – to do what, he doesn't know – and being yanked back by one of Sheppard's goons.

"Jensen?" Jared calls. "Jesus, Jen, get me out of here!"

"Way I see it, you have three choices," Sheppard practically purrs near Jensen's ear. "One, you say no, I crush your friend and kill you. Two, you say yes, you dick me over, you leave town, you fail to deliver, I kill you, I kill your friend, I go after Kane here and Jared's crew and then his momma for all the aggravation he's caused me. Or three, you say yes, you deliver my cars – on time, mind you – and it's over."

"And you let him go." Jensen gestures to the partly-crushed car, the roof half pushed in and the glass in the windows busted out from the pressure and Jared panicking inside.

"I let him go."

"Deal."

"Get him out," Sheppard says, waving at the car and the crusher and his goons, who pry the door open and pull Jared out. He brushes bits of window glass and car interior out of his hair and off his clothes, and he looks rattled and surprised and relieved, and he looks older, and Jensen just wants to go home.

Chris takes them back to Jared's mom's house, Jared babbling the entire way until Jensen asks him to please shut up. He has to think. He has people to talk to, cars to find, a deal to keep. And Jared. He has Jared to to talk to, to deal with, to just look at.

It's been six years and Jensen remembers Jared as a tall, scrawny kid in need of a haircut, broad shoulders and long legs and an impish grin. He's still tall and still has the overgrown hair and the broad shoulders, but he's grown up and grown out and Chris was right, he's really not a kid any more. And then he grins at Jensen from the back seat, all gratitude, flashing the wide smile and the dimples that Jensen remembers, and he's eighteen again, twenty, the boy Jensen loved like a brother and left LA to protect.

Jared's mom's house looks like Jensen remembers it, small and cluttered and homey. There are old photos of the boys when they were younger, pictures of Jared and his dad from when his dad was still alive, his mom, his dogs, his brother and sister, Jensen leaning against the side of an old Mustang and Jared sitting on the roof. Old trophies from Jared's dad's racing days. A couple of motorcycle license plates nailed to the wall in the living room. Books and magazines and socks and straggly potted plants and plastic chess pieces and half-empty liter bottles of Coke and a dog collar.

"Where're the dogs?" Jensen asks.

"Megan's got ‘em," Jared says, leading the way into the kitchen and sticking his head in the fridge. He pulls out a carton of orange juice and takes a swig. "She's living on some commune farm with her boyfriend. There's like forty other people and they've got acres and acres of land, and we thought the dogs'd be happier there. They love having all those people around. They get to chase rabbits and chickens, and little kids just hang off them and it's like doggie heaven." He shrugs. "I try to get out there to see them, but it's hard. I don't think a lot of Megan's friends really like me."

Jensen finds that hard to believe. But watching Jared swallow half the carton of orange juice and then start rooting through the fridge for more food, he wonders if it's less that they dislike Jared and more that they just don't want to have to feed him.

"How is she?" he asks. "How's Jeff? _Where's_ Jeff? How's your mom?"

"Dude, sit down. You want something to eat? I'll make you some eggs or something."

"Megan," Jensen prompts, as Jared pulls out eggs and shredded cheese and butter and finds a frying pan.

"She's good. She likes farming and communing. When she first moved out there Mom thought it was a cult, and it took Megan months to convince her otherwise." He chuckles. "Jeff's married. I think he's got a kid, but it's been a couple years since we've heard from him. He was in New Mexico last time we talked."

When they were younger, before Jensen left, Jared's older brother was always a weirdly distant part of Jared's life. He'd moved out when he turned eighteen and despite their mom's best efforts, he'd stayed gone. Jensen never liked him much, but Jensen will be the first to admit that he never knew Jeff well enough to form an opinion, and to be fair Jeff never seemeed to like him much either.

But he always liked Megan, even if she was exceptionally skilled in the ways of bratty younger sisters everywhere. Despite that she was a good kid and he's glad to know she's doing well.

"Oh, shit, I should call Mom," Jared says. He drops an eggshell in the frying pan and has to dig it out with a fork. "Tell her you're home. Now that I'm the only one still living here we've got a spare room. You don't have to share with me any more. Uh. Unless you want to."

When he was still in high school, Jensen's parents packed up and moved to Texas to be closer to his ailing grandparents and farther away from what they considered a more and more sinful part of the country. They were worried that LA would lead their children astray and turn them into drains on society rather than good hard-working people, and yet Jensen put up such a fight – he felt closer to Jared and Jared's family than his own– that they essentially washed their hands of him and let him stay. He was seventeen and Jared's mom took him in, installed him in Jared's room (Jeff had recently moved out), treated him like one of her own.

Jared grew up thinking of Jensen as his brother, and Jensen will do anything to protect him.

Even make a deal that will not only shove him back into the shady life he thought he left, but require more luck and good karma than he has probably ever earned.

"They might be kind of crunchy," Jared says apologetically, yanking Jensen away from his thoughts and setting a plate of scrambled eggs with cheese on the table in front of him. "You want coffee or milk or something? I finished the juice." He looks a little embarrassed and it's just as cute on him now as it was ten years ago, even if the t-shirt stretching across his chest and shoulders just points up how very much he's grown since then.

"Don't call your mom," Jensen says. He forks up some eggs, takes a bite, tastes cheese and butter and – _crunch_ – a shell. He tries to spit it out discreetly.

"Why not?" Jared pops some bread into the toaster. "She'll be so happy to see you."

"Just... not yet, ok? I have to fix this thing with Sheppard and then you can tell her."

"You'll see her tonight or tomorrow anyway. I mean, you're staying here, right?" Jared asks the question as if there's only one answer for him, and it hadn't occurred to him that Jensen might have another.

"I, uh, I was gonna stay with Chris. Just to keep you out of it."

Jared leans against the counter in front of the toaster. Jensen has a sudden mental image of the toast popping out and smacking Jared in the back of the head. "This is my fuck-up," he says. "I'm really grateful you saved my ass – seriously, Jen, you kept me from getting killed – but I got myself into this mess and I gotta get myself out of it. I can't let you do it without me."

"Shit, Jared," Jensen sighs. "You have to stay clear. I made the deal, it's my problem now. Besides, you got cops after you, remember? You wanna go to jail? Grand theft auto, Jay. That's not a slap on the wrist."

Jared makes a bitchface, lips pressed together and eyes narrowing. He's clearly upset, but he doesn't argue, just turns back to the toaster.

"Jay."

"Fine. You deal with it." His voice is tight and angry. But Jensen isn't worried and isn't bothered – he'll see some people, he'll make some calls, in a few days everything will be over and Jared will understand that Jensen's just trying to keep him safe.

Jensen does not let himself wonder who's going to keep _him_ safe.

Later that day he goes to see Jim, who ran a garage and a chop shop back in the day, but has apparently switched to legitimate rebuilds and restoration.

"I am all about second chances these days," he tells Jensen, leading him through the garage and showing off some of the work he and his mechanics have been doing. Jensen's impressed and finds himself wishing that he really didn't have to ask Jim for help.

"This is pretty sweet," he says. "It's nice to see you doing well for yourself."

"I'm really enjoying it, I can't lie. Maddy's good, before you ask." The words could be chiding, but Jim grins and Jensen knows there's no malice there. They've worked their way around to the office, which is probably why Jim says "I'm pretty sure I know why you're back in town, but I want to hear it from you."

"You heard about Jared, huh." Jim nods. "I took the job." Now Jim sighs and shakes his head. "I had to. He's my family, Jim. What if it was your brother?"

Jim sighs again. "What's the damage?"

"Fifty cars by Friday morning."

"Can't be done."

"It can with the right crew." Jensen tries to sound convincing. He's not sure himself if he can do this, even with the best crew that ever was, but he needs Jim because Jared needs him, and it's this one job because the alternative is unacceptable.

"And how many is that right now?"

"Well, one. Hopefully two." He tries out the puppydog eyes, Jared's favorite trick, and Jim looks like he wants to hug him and strangle him at the same time. "I really need your help."

"You'll be the death of me, Jensen Ackles. Get me a piece of paper."

They spend the next couple of hours making lists and plans and hunting people down. Jensen gets a hold of Matt first – Matt was always easy to find – but he flat-out says no, he's got kids now, a family, he can't do that shit any more, he's gone straight. Jensen hopes he doesn't mean that literally, because Matt's mouth is a gift from god, and if Jensen can't be on the receiving end any more, at least someone will be.

He just tells Matt he hopes the new guy makes him happy, and hangs up.

He tries and fails to find Katie, but someone eventually answers her phone when Jim calls and he gets an earful from a woman who sounds like Katie's mother, a good ten minutes of her telling Jim off, cursing him and Jensen and all their friends and associates and anyone who ever even whispered "cars" to her daughter. Katee – not Katie, and making sure you're talking about (or asking for) the right one always made Jensen's head hurt – is in the middle of something, technically some _one_ , and Jensen's face must be something to see, because Jim laughs at his no doubt mortified expression when he realizes he can even hear the bedsprings.

Tom and Mike are both serving time up in Chino – Jensen isn't surprised, as Mike was always kind of reckless and Tom was never very smart – and he gets conflicting information about Misha and Richard, who have either fucked off for Mexico together or one or the other gotten killed. He hopes it's the former. Timothy won't answer his phone. No one knows where Charles is.

In the end, Jensen has three – Aldis (who's been making his money installing car stereos and dog-walking, of all things), Kevin (working in a garage), and Frederick, who tries and fails to get Jensen to call him Fred and has been bartending in between home improvement gigs. None of them can resist Jensen's lure – a chance to drive some fast cars, get Jared out of trouble, and run as a crew again.

He calls Chris on the way out of the garage, and then he goes to see Jared's mom. She still works at the same diner, and he's oddly relieved that this at least has not changed.

"Jensen! Honey!" she cries, giving him a big hug. Then she steps away and looks at him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

He can hear her real question – _Are you going to commit crime? Are you going to put yourself and my son in danger?_ And he could never lie to her, not like he could lie to his own mother, so he doesn't say anything.

"What did you do?" she goes on.

"Nothing, yet."

"Jensen. Are you in trouble? Is Jared in trouble?"

"Not any more. He's fine, Mrs P, I promise. I just... came to say hi."

"Hi." She puts her hands on her hips. He can tell she doesn't want to trust him, and he doesn't blame her, but she loves him like he was hers, and he'd go to the ends of the earth for her and her kids, and he knows that she can't help but have a little faith.

"Thanks," he says, kissing her on the cheek.

"For what?" Now she's grinning at him. In their easy grins and their dimples, Jared is very much his mother's son.

"For – I don't know. Not kicking my ass?" Now he grins back, feeling just like a little kid whose mom has caught him sneaking a cookie out of the pantry before dinner and decided to let it slide this one time. "I'm staying with Chris, do you mind?"

"Of course I mind! How can I keep an eye on you if you're at someone else's house?"

She's smiling but Jensen can't tell if she's joking or not. But the hug she gives him certainly feels sincere, even if she does take the opportunity to tell him "If you or Jared end up in jail I will disown you both, see if I don't."

"Trust me," he says, and then he has to leave.

He walks out of the diner and almost right into the man who was unknowingly responsible for Jensen leaving town six years ago.

"Detective Morgan," Jensen says, trying not to sound worried. He doesn't need a cop right now, especially not a cop who knows him. "Did a memo go out or something?"

"Mr Ackles," the detective answers. "A little birdie told me you were back in LA." He looks older, Jensen notices. A little silver in his short beard, a few more wrinkles in his face. His partner – at least Jensen assumes she's his partner – is a pretty girl with brown hair in a ponytail. She doesn't look like a cop, but that could be because she's not in uniform. Neither of them are. Morgan gestures first to her and then to Jensen. "Detective Harris, meet the one that got away."

"You're cuter than I would've expected," she says. Jensen blinks.

"Don't let the good looks fool you," Morgan goes on. They're walking because Jensen is walking, because he's afraid to stop and he's afraid to give anything away and he hasn't even been in LA twenty-four hours and already there's a snag.

That's assuming he doesn't consider "Take a job stealing fifty cars by Friday" to be a snag.

"I'm just here for a little family business," Jensen says, outwardly calm.

"And that business wouldn't involve a young man of our mutual acquaintance and his budding career, now would it?"

"Well, you'd have to ask him. My car's right up here so you'll have to excuse me. Things to do, places to be, you know the drill."

"Quick question before you go. Are you working for Mark Sheppard?"

"Who? Why?"

"He's been involved in some, shall we say, questionable activities of late. The kinds of things that are right up your alley."

"And you're telling me this because...?"

Morgan shrugs. "Consider it some friendly advice. I've got my eye on you, Jensen. You take care."

Jensen can hear Detective Harris say "You didn't tell me he was hot" as he walks up to his car and digs out his keys. Great. Morgan is watching him and Morgan's partner thinks he's cute. He wonders what the universe is going to gift him with next.

What the universe gifts him with next is Chris throwing him out of the apartment, although it's less "I don't want you here" – Chris did drag him back to LA, after all – and more "You should stay with the kid, maybe talk some sense into him". Less of a throw, more of a push.

Jensen does not tell Chris that he ran into Detective Morgan and his pretty female partner. He'd like to think it's because he's not worried, but in truth he doesn't want Chris to worry, or to think too hard about how the good detective might have learned Jensen was back in the first place. He doesn't blame Chris or Jim or anyone else he's talked to in the last few hours. Maybe he hit a psychic tripwire when he crossed into the city limits. Maybe someone saw him and reported in. Six years ago people knew his name and his face, and he doesn't think that physically he's changed all that much.

He can't deny that it's an ego-boost to know he still has a reputation. People still remember him and how he made his name. But it also means Morgan is on to him, and any chance he had of doing this job under the radar has been well and truly blown. He doesn't want his reputation and his past career to get anyone killed.

He drives to Jared's mom's house thinking and planning and running scenarios in his head. He wonders if the criminal landscape has changed at all, if boosting cars is any different from the way it used to be. He hopes not.

No one is home when Jensen gets to the house, but that's ok – he still has a key. He keeps it in his wallet, and has for six years. He lets himself in, drops his stuff in Jared's room out of habit – even if it's a habit he hasn't indulged in for a long time – gets a beer out of the fridge, feels instantly guilty, and puts it back. It's as if he's seventeen again and Mrs P is watching him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he's not drinking alcohol in her house.

Jensen wanders through the house reacquainting himself with Jared and Jared's life. There are two beds still in Jared's room, almost as if they've been expecting Jensen to come back. Megan's room looks like a cross between a teenage girl's bedroom, a guest room, and a storage room. There are clothes on Jared's bedroom floor, and when Jensen goes back into the kitchen he notices that there are still dirty dishes in the sink. Everything looks the same. He's not sure whether to be relieved or not.

He makes himself a sandwich, takes the beer back out of the fridge. He calls Jim, calls Chris, calls Mrs P's diner. He puts his plate in the sink, drops his now-empty beer bottle in the trash, and wanders back into Jared's room to stretch out on the bed and think some more. He falls asleep instead.

He wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night, discombobulated. There's a blanket spread over him. The window shades are pulled only partway, letting in street light, and someone's snoring. It takes Jensen a minute to remember where he is and why. He's tempted to wake Jared up and yell at him, but what would be the point? What's done is done. Tomorrow he and his reformed crew will go over Sheppard's list, they'll scope out the cars, they'll plot and plan. The day after, they'll get to work. He'll show them why Morgan is still chasing him, why he still has the clout and how he still has the skills to take a job this size.

Because what good is a reputation if you can't live up to it? Fifty cars, forty-eight hours. A day to find them, a day to take them. He can run this.

He has to.

He goes back to sleep.

By the time Jared's mom wakes Jensen the next morning, Jared is gone.

"He said he had to run some errands," she says, pouring Jensen a glass of orange juice. She still doesn't look or sound like she believes that he hasn't come home for criminal purposes, or that he isn't going to lead Jared astray.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Jensen tells her. He tries to sound reassuring and casual.

"He loves you, Jensen. He idolizes you. You shouldn't have left. I never should have told you to go."

 _And what would have changed if I'd stayed?_ he wants to ask. _I'd have gone to jail and Jared still would've done something stupid._

"I'll look after him," is all he says.

"Look after yourself too." She kisses the top of his head as she walks around the table and leaves the kitchen.

As he's standing up ten minutes later, he hears "Put your dishes in the sink!" from somewhere back in the house, and he has to grin. At least this hasn't changed – Jared's mom is still momming him.

Jensen is equally relieved to note that it feels very familiar to pace around Jim's office, discussing Sheppard's list of cars with Chris and the rest of his crew. They've had their share of spats, but he always liked these guys, always trusted them to have his back. They're good guys, good with cars, smart and quick and, for all that this is a criminal enterprise, honest.

And in Kevin's case, still huge.

"Jesus Christ, man," Jensen says, grabbing him in a hug, "did you _grow_?"

"You must've shrank," Kevin says. He grins.

In the meantime, Jim has pulled out the rolling blackboard they used to list jobs on, back when he stripped cars rather than rebuilt them, and Jensen can hear Chris say "Your handwriting's chickenscratch, give me that." And when he turns around, Chris is wiping the blackboard with a rag and Jim is rolling his eyes.

"You write like an arthritic spider, Jim," Frederick teases from where he's leaning back in a chair, his cowboy boots propped on Jim's desk. Man always did love his boots. Jim just rolls his eyes harder.

"You are not naming them," Aldis protests, although Chris has already started listing all the cars on the board with their female aliases.

"I get to name them," Jim tells them firmly. "Old dog's privilege."

Jensen scans the board as Jim dictates and Chris writes and Aldis tries to interject, mentally tallying up driving difficulty and how hard some of these might be to find, and then he stops at #47.

Her name is Eleanor. Her name has always been Eleanor. In some ways Jensen thinks she's the only thing he's ever wanted his whole life. And six years ago, she almost got him caught. She could've gotten him killed.

"We'll get her this time," Jim says quietly, putting his hand on Jensen's shoulder. "Have a little faith."

Jensen allows himself a minute to wish, but his reverie is broken by Chris saying "'Fleur'?" like he can't decide if it's a name he likes or not. It must be Aldis' suggestion.

"Like the girl in the Harry Potter books," Kevin tells him. "My girlfriend's kid loves them."

"You have a girlfriend?" Jensen repeats in disbelief. Kevin is now wearing an expression Jensen has only seen him turn on cars – love and affection and a little bit of embarrassment at how strong the first two emotions are. Jensen suddenly feels guilty for dragging him back into this life.

But whatever direction this particular conversation might take is derailed by Jared's arrival. He's trailed by three guys and a girl, people Jensen guesses are his crew. Are these the errands Jared needed to run earlier?

"Oh no," he says, "you are not staying here." He walks up to Jared, intending to forcibly turn him around and frog-march him out of the garage if necessary, but now everyone else is talking and Kevin is delightedly measuring Jared's height against his own, and Jensen can't get a word in.

"Shut up, all of you," he practically yells, and when they do, looking surprised (and in Aldis' case, vaguely hurt), he points to Jared, sweeps his arm across to encompass Jared's crew, and says "No way. You are all going home."

"I told you yesterday," Jared says, "this is my fault. I gotta fix my own mistakes."

"I promised your mom I'd keep you out of trouble! What – "

"Keep _me_ out of trouble? That's funny, coming – "

" – tell her? You want to end up in jail? You fuck this – "

" – do you think I've been doing since you left? Sitting – "

" – get killed! I'm not gonna – "

They're yelling over each other so loudly now Jensen can't hear his own words, standing in each other's space, right in each other's face, and then Kevin is shoving them apart and Jensen can hear Jim telling him to be quiet.

"You can't do this job yourself," Jared says, clearly trying for calm. "You need our help."

"We've got skills," says one of the guys who came with him, a blond kid who looks a little bit familiar. "It's not like you'll have to _babysit_."

"Shut up, Murray." Jared doesn't even turn around. He's still looking at Jensen. "We got caught because I was stupid. But I've learned a lot the last six years. I got my own crew. They're good. They're _loyal_. We can help."

"You know your mom's gonna disown us both if this goes south," Jensen grumbles. Is he actually agreeing to Jared's help? He thinks he is.

"So who's the junior varsity team?" Frederick asks.

The junior varsity team is Murray, the blond kid who looked vaguely familiar and who Jensen now recognizes as one of Jared's friends from high school, the kind of guy who would stick by you the whole time he was dragging you into trouble, Lindberg, a skinny stoner-looking guy in a knit cap, Gabe, dark-haired and goofy-looking, and Alona, who's pretty and blonde and wearing cargo pants with pockets big and deep enough to hide not only her B&E tools but probably everyone else's as well.

"What kind of skills do you bring to the table?"

"If it's got a tracking system," Alona says, "I can break it. Lo-jack, OnStar, factory installed, fancy custom shit, whatever. No one's gonna follow me." She grins. She looks like a cheerleader, if cheerleaders wore wife-beaters and Chuck Taylors with duct tape across the toes.

"And how do you do that?"

"Lead putty." She's still grinning. "Stick it on the antenna. It blocks the signal."

"Low-tech solution for a high-tech problem," Aldis says, sounding impressed.

"Moving on," Jensen encourages, gesturing at Jared.

"Murray's the best wheelman under thirty," Jared goes on, "and Lindberg's the computer genius."

"No one's gonna follow me either," the stoner drawls.

"Can you hack the DMV?" Kevin asks. "Change VINs, alter registrations, all that fun stuff?"

"In my sleep."

"And Gabe does a little bit of everything," Jared goes on, "and whatever's left over. He's got friends in low places if we need them."

Jensen sighs. He has to admit, they sound good. And he could use the help. Looking at the cars covering Jim's blackboard fills him with anxiety and resolve in equal measure, and he can't afford to turn down five extra pairs of hands.

"Why do they all have girls' names?" Gabe asks, pointing to the blackboard.

"So you can talk about them in mixed company," Jim explains. "'Just picked up Alice.' ‘Took Wendy down to the beach.' ‘Elizabeth gave me some trouble.' That kind of thing. No one's the wiser."

"Aw, there's no Joanna," Alona says, sounding disappointed.

"Her dog," Murray explains.

"Ok, kids," Aldis says, "this is – "

"Who's leading this crew?" Jensen interrupts.

"Just trying to get everyone to settle."

Murray, Jared, and Gabe all make a big deal out of settling down.

"Thank you," Jensen goes on. "This is the deal – we have to deliver fifty cars unscratched by nine o'clock Friday morning. Today and tonight we find them, tomorrow night we steal them. We are on the tightest schedule you can imagine. Fuck up and you're gone."

 _Unless you're Jared_ , he thinks, _or me, and then you're dead._

"Ok. Lindberg. Get into the DMV, see who you can find. Chris, call Steve. I know you still have contacts. Aldis, Frederick, I'm betting the same. Junior varsity – "

"He was joking!" Murray protests.

" – do your research. Gabe, if you talk to your friends in low places, be circumspect. Don't any of you give anything away. We'll regroup here at nine to scope out the ladies. Good?" Nods all around. "Good."

It's another hour before he can leave, although in that hour Jensen gets enough of a feel for Jared's crew to think that bringing them in was a smart decision after all. They seem like a reasonably intelligent bunch of kids, if relatively inexperienced, they get along with each other, they don't push against every order. (Although they do push against most of them.) Jensen is a little surprised to find that he's impressed with and proud of Jared for putting together what looks like a good crew.

Not that he thinks Jared should have ever done it in the first place.

The rest of the day passes in a rush of activity and plotting. This was always Jensen's second-favorite part of boosting cars – the looking, the finding. The hunt. He can put on a nice suit and pretend to be an asshole with money and taste and attitude, he can cruise wealthy neighborhoods looking for the perfect prize. He can go places he doesn't normally go and pretend to be people he isn't, and he can plan ahead for the quick minutes when he gets to break into a stranger's car and speed away with it.

And that was always his favorite part, the brief length of time during which he and his stolen wheels could go anywhere. Boosting cars is a challenge and a rush, and all it takes is thirty minutes with a salesman at a swanky dealership, thirty minutes of entitled chatter and a look at the cars on offer – thirty minutes and Jensen's six-year attempt to stay clean and above the law and away from other people's cars is completely undone.

The promise of a rumbling engine and a responsive gearshift, torque and horsepower, chrome and leather and glass, a long ribbon of asphalt unspooling under his tires – that will do it every time. He doesn’t even need a test drive. The potential is enough.

Of all the things he came home for, this anticipation, this quickening of his pulse, has not changed, and he's grateful. It makes things easier. It means he still has the skills. He still has the excitement. He still has the love. And he knew he couldn't do this if he didn't.

But he does.

Everyone is on time that night. Jensen tries not to be surprised. Jared chooses to ride with him, and that doesn't surprise him at all.

"Don't give me any more grief, ok?" Jensen says.

"And don't yell at me."

"Deal."

"I should've brought my police scanner," Gabe says suddenly.

"You have a scanner?" Aldis demands. "And you didn't bring it?"

"Focus, ladies and gentlemen," Jim says.

"I think you mean _lady_ and gentlemen."

"He would if I was a lady," Alona laughs.

"I like her," Frederick says.

Lindberg has a master list with locations and addresses of all fifty cars, collated from everyone's research and his own forays into the depths of the DMV. They've got cameras, little security sensors, gadgets and GPS and walkie-talkies that Jim found. _Old school for the old dog_ , he explains. They break up, spread out, go hunting.

And because Jim's involved, they play car trivia on the road.

"First one's easy," he announces over the walkie-talkie. "Gimme KITT."

"Original or remake?" Chris asks.

"Heavily modified Pontiac Trans Am," Kevin says, at the same time Murray answers "Ford Shelby GT."

"The remake sucked," Jared tells Jensen.

"I heard that." Murray.

"I'm still right."

"Children." Jim again. "Correct answers all around. Another gimme. The Saint's car."

"The who?" Gabe.

"Simon Templar!" Frederick. Jensen can just hear the implied _Philistines!_ in his tone. "Roger Moore before he was Bond! Volvo P1800, white."

"Penelope." Lindberg. "Check the list. Number fifty."

"A star for the cowboy." Jim. "Let's pick it up a bit. Adam West's Batmobile."

"Cadillac." Alona.

"Total custom job." Aldis.

"It was based off a concept car from the 50s," Jared says. "A Ford Futura. They had to put a Galaxie engine in it halfway through the first season because the engine in the Futura was too old."

"Nerd!" Murray. Jared just shrugs, grinning.

"Geek," Jensen says, affectionately.

"For the trifecta, gimme Batmobiles from Tim Burton's _Batman_ and Chris Nolan's _Batman Begins_." Jim.

"The second one was built from scratch." Kevin. "It's a fucking tank."

"Technically, it's a military vehicle called a Tumbler." Lindberg.

"Which is a tank."

"Looked like a Humvee to me." Gabe.

"Too low to the ground." Frederick. "It had a Chevy V8 engine."

"How do you people know this shit?" Murray.

"Years of dedicated car nerdery, junior varsity."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Kids. Play nice." Jim. "Durand's right, Lindberg's right, and Weller's right. Let's hear it for team effort. Who's got Burton's Batmobile?"

"Chevy Impala chassis," Jensen says. "Customized to hell and back."

"And we have a winner! Thanks for playing, study hard for the next quiz."

"Next quiz?" Gabe.

"Bond cars." Aldis. "Lots and lots of Bond cars." He doesn't sound too disappointed by the prospect of being quizzed on James Bond's various vehicles.

"Low profiles, don't forget," Jensen reminds everyone. "Now is not the time to be attracting attention."

"Murray," Jared adds.

"I can be discreet!" Murray.

"That's not what she said...." Alona. Laughter all around.

"He's gonna pout now," Jared tells Jensen.

"Oh, fuck you all." Murray.

"Can we go to radio silence?" Chris. "This is like driving with a day care in the back seat."

"I'm off." Kevin.

"Call if there's an emergency." Aldis.

"Send me your pictures when you get 'em." Lindberg.

And then it's quiet in the car except for the faint crackle of static from Jared and Jensen's walkie-talkie. Jared turns the radio on. Jensen turns it off. He needs to concentrate.

The next few hours pass in general silence, broken by the occasional random observation, bit of trivia, or curse aimed at the GPS. Jared programs addresses into it, Jensen navigates roads and neighborhoods that he's only a little surprised he remembers, and they both keep their eyes peeled for cops and landmarks and anything that might help or hinder someone trying to boost a car. Every so often Jensen becomes acutely aware that the Jared he used to know has grown into this competent, confident man sitting next to him, this person who leads his own crew and takes responsibility for his own mistakes. It has become more and more clear that the boy Jensen always considered his little brother grew up when he wasn't looking, and he doesn't really know what to think or how to feel about that.

He still hasn't told anyone that he ran into Detective Morgan yesterday. Now he thinks he should have, just to keep everyone on their toes. He'd like to think his own guys are smart enough to not need a reminder that they could encounter cops, but it's been a long time and a refresher never hurt. And what about Jared's crew? How close have any of them come to getting caught? How long have any of them been doing this, anyway?

They're cruising through a swanky neighborhood looking for Ellen (a 2009 Mercedes Benz SL 600) when he asks Jared "When did you put together a crew?"

"Uh," Jared says, apparently unprepared to answer the question, and Jensen wants to smack himself. He wasn't thinking before he opened his mouth. He doesn't want to have this conversation now, not when he's trapped in a car and needs to be paying attention to other things.

"Forget it. It doesn't matter."

"I guess it does."

Jensen risks a glance sideways. Jared is looking at him thoughtfully. In the dark of the car it's hard to read his expression. Six years ago he didn't have much of a poker face. Maybe he's been practicing.

"Now's probably not the time to discuss it, though," Jared says, and Jensen wants to kiss him for being on the same wavelength. "Maybe when we're done." He points across Jensen at the driver's side of the street. "1274. It's up here."

Jensen slows down, pulls into the driveway next door to their target. Ellen is painted a flawless shiny black, and she's gorgeous. Jared hands him the camera and he snaps some pictures, which will no doubt come out too dark, and they both take stock of the neighboring houses, the landscaping, garages and other cars in other driveways, who has security lights and how bright they are and where they're directed.

And then he pulls backwards out of the driveway and drives off like nothing's amiss.

Later they regroup at Jim's, share their recon experiences, make a plan for tomorrow. Chris can't stop yawning and Aldis keeps elbowing him to wake him up, until Chris grabs his arm and hisses "Do that again and I'll snap it off". Jim offers the couch in his office if Chris needs a nap. Chris rolls his eyes. Alona offers to keep him company. Jared snickers, as do Frederick and Murray, and Jensen has to bang on Jim's desk to get everyone to shut up again.

"Remember," he says, "low profiles. Don't even sneeze wrong. We have" – he glances at his watch – "thirty-one hours to keep our heads down. After that, you can do whatever you want, I don't care. We roll out at nine o'clock tomorrow night. Get some sleep."

And then he and Jared go home.

The house is dark and quiet except for a light on in the kitchen. There's a plate of cookies on the table with a note that says "Have some cookies. Love, Mom", and on the counter are two small loaves of something wrapped in tinfoil, with Post-its reading "Don't eat this" and "Don't eat this either" stuck to them. The kitchen smells faintly of banana bread.

"Stress baking," Jared says sagely, opening the fridge and taking out the milk. He pours himself a glass, sits down, and pulls the plate of cookies towards himself. He bites into one, chews, swallows, and says "A couple years."

"A couple years what?" Jensen asks.

"Since I put together my own crew. We've only been together a couple years, I mean. I did some work for some guys before that, just building up my skills, getting my name out there. And then I figured it was time to lead myself." He shrugs.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? We need the money. The house needs work, Mom's car is a piece of shit but she can't get to the diner without it and we can't afford to replace it, Jeff doesn't want anything to do with us, Megan fucked off to her commune, you... whatever you did – I'm the only one left to take care of things. What if something happens? You know the diner doesn't pay anything. It's up to me." He finishes the cookie, brushes crumbs off the table. "Why'd you do it? Don't tell me it wasn't for the money."

"It wasn't." Jared doesn't look convinced. "Well, the money was nice, but I did it for the cars. I mean, I'll never be rich enough to own a Porsche or a MacLaren, but I could boost one, open it up on the freeway, and just… take off. For a few hours I could have something amazing, something I'd never have a chance at otherwise. I could be _fast_. I could get away, I could be free." He sighs. "And I could go to jail. I was so close to getting caught, that's why I left. I realized I was a bad fucking influence, and I didn't want you to follow me to jail." He sighs again. "And yesterday I rescued you from Sheppard's god-damn crusher. You could've been _killed_. What were you thinking?"

"I missed you," Jared says, his voice quieter now, like he's confessing a secret. "You just took off and no one would tell me where you were. You were like my big brother – you were my _family_ – and you just abandoned me. And I thought, I dunno, I'd do what you did, I'd get really good at boosting cars, make a name for myself, run my own crew, and maybe you'd know, and... you'd come back." He's looking at his hands holding his glass, rather than at Jensen. Jensen wants him to look up. "And if you didn't, ok, I'd just... I'd be you, and it would almost be like you were here." He swallows the rest of his milk.

"Jay...."

"You left me." Now Jared does look up, and he looks angry. "I _loved_ you and – " He stops abruptly.

"I'm sorry. Your mom asked me to go. I didn't argue. I thought it was best. I was afraid of getting caught, I was afraid you'd go with me, I don't know. I was trying to protect you, keep you out of it. And you did it anyway." He picks up a cookie, breaks it in half, drops both halves on the table. He doesn't know what to say or do or even think. He was wrong to leave, he knows that now, and he can fix Jared's deal with Sheppard, but how can he make up for the six years he was gone?

"Why couldn't you tell me where you were? Why didn't you ever call?"

"I didn't want anyone to know where I was. I thought there was a warrant out for my arrest. The cops knew me. I couldn't risk it."

"Coward."

"Yeah." Jensen picks up one of the cookie halves and eats it. Peanutbutter. He always did love Mrs P's peanutbutter cookies. "If I'd stayed here, I would've gone to jail, but you wouldn't have gotten into trouble. I shoulda stayed."

"Yeah. You should have."

"I don't know how to make it up to you, after this thing is over."

"I do. You can stay."

Jensen eats the other half of his cookie. Jared is watching him, looking calm.

 _You were a kid when I left_ , Jensen thinks. _Twenty years old, and you were a kid._

Well, one good thing came out of the six years he was gone – it gave Jared a chance to screw up, but it also gave him a chance to grow up. Maybe he doesn't need anyone to look after him and protect him any more.

But just this one time, Jensen will.

"Ok," Jensen says. "I'll stay. Your mom'll be thrilled."

Jared's whole face lights up when he grins, the same as when he was seven, fourteen, twenty, and Jensen is so inexplicably relieved that his chest hurts.

And then he realizes that it isn't relief, it's love. The reason he left, the reason he came back, the reason he started stealing cars in the first place.

The reason he's going to stay.

Everything suddenly seems so very easy – it's only Wednesday and in the past day and a half he's gotten a crew together, scouted fifty cars, made a plan to take them, settled into Mrs P's house, had Jared forgive him for leaving, and just generally slotted right back into the space he left. The only speedbump is the appearance of Detective Morgan and his pretty partner, and if everyone keeps their heads down and their eyes open, the good detective's attention might stay focused on him. Which means he'll have to be extra careful, now that he's promised to stick around when this is all over.

He yawns. He needs to go to bed. And Jared is still half-grinning at him with the same expression Mrs P used to turn on them when they'd done something ridiculous in the way of boys playing around. It's affectionate and full of love and to see it on Jared's face is familiar and strange at the same time.

"I need to go to bed," Jensen says, unnecessarily. "We have a lot to do tomorrow. A lot to plan."

"A lot to steal," Jared adds.

"That too." He stands up. "Don't finish the cookies."

He's almost asleep when Jared tiptoes into the bedroom, clearly trying to be quiet, and if Jensen wasn't so tired and if he didn't have so many things to think about, he might actually laugh at the sight of Jared very carefully making his way across the messy floor. And then Jared crawls into bed with him, making the mattress dip and the frame creak, and Jensen whispers "What are you doing? You're not gonna fit."

"Sure I will," Jared whispers back, managing to fit his body against Jensen's in such a way that the mattress can just hold both of them.

"Are you worried about tomorrow? About Sheppard?" Jensen can't think of another reason Jared might need to share a bed.

"No."

"Then what – ?"

"I just. I missed you. The whole time you were gone." His voice sounds young, but the length and solidity of his body pressed against Jensen are anything but. There's no softness anywhere on him, save for his hair tickling Jensen's cheek. It's intimate and comforting and if Jared was anyone else Jensen might think this was a come-on.

"Go to sleep," he says.

"Ok."

Jared is asleep almost instantly. It takes Jensen a little longer, but not much. In the morning Jared wakes him up by half shoving him off the bed, and for an hour or so they revert to being teenagers, pushing and shoving and throwing clothes at each other (sometimes clean clothes, sometimes not) and snapping towels and stealing each other's breakfasts and just goofing off.

They eventually end up at Jim's, for lack of any better ideas, hanging around the office and the back of the garage while legitimate mechanics perform legitimate work on people's legitimately-owned cars. Jensen wonders what these men know about their boss' previous life, or his current side project, or if they're all reformed crooks too.

Slowly some of the rest of their combined crew trickles in, and Jim is talking to Chris and Aldis, and Lindberg and Frederick are arguing about philosophy, of all things, and Jared is whipping Murray's ass at poker when one of Jim's mechanics comes back to where they are, whispers in Jim's ear, and disappears again.

"Cover that," Jim tells Chris, pointing to the blackboard. Chris and Aldis spin it around so the list of cars is turned to the wall and the outward-facing side just shows what looks like a complicated repair schedule. Frederick flips papers around on the desk to cover anything incriminating. Jared pushes the box of walkie-talkies into a cupboard.

"Beaver!" someone calls out cheerfully, and Detectives Morgan and Harris come into view. Chris shoots Jensen a look – _Why didn't you tell me he was on to you?_ – and Jim focuses on Morgan.

"Detective Morgan," he says. "What brings you to my garage? Need a tune-up?"

"Just checking up on Mr Ackles here." He waves in Jensen's direction. Everyone's eyes follow his arm. Jensen wants to shrink into the floor. "Making sure he's keeping his nose clean, that's all. What's this?" He gestures to the blackboard. "Looks like you're keeping busy." Morgan keeps walking around, checking things out, glancing at everyone, clearly taking notes. Harris follows him, smiling brightly. She winks at Chris. He just looks suspicious.

"Lots of restoration," Jim says. "Making the old young again."

"Nice work if you can get it," Morgan comments. He runs his hand over the hood of an old Cadillac. Jensen wonders what he's thinking, if the game is up, the job over, and if it is, could they give up Sheppard in exchange for their freedom? Would Morgan take that?

Another pass around this part of the garage, another thoughtful look at the schedule on the blackboard, a leer from Murray and a laughing comment from Harris in return, and Morgan says "Well, if I inherit my dad's Plymouth and it needs some work, I know where to bring it. You have a good day."

He and Harris let themselves out, and no sooner are they gone than Chris rounds on Jensen and demands to know how the detective knew he was here, and why didn't he say anything?

"You can't protect us," Frederick says. "Not any more."

"What does he know?" Jared asks.

"I don't know," Jensen sighs. "I didn't think he'd follow me here."

"Well, that was a stupid-ass thing to think," Jim says. "But it's pointless now. He knows something's up or he wouldn't have come here. There a warrant out on you?"

"Not that I know of. He would've arrested me the first time he saw me, if there was."

"The first time?" Aldis repeats.

"Yeah. Guys, I'm sorry. I kinda hoped this wouldn't come up. He can't keep eyes on all fifty cars, and he can't keep eyes on all of us all the time. We just have to be really, really careful." He remembers that when Morgan saw him yesterday, he mentioned Jared's criminal career and Sheppard's criminal business. They'll have to be more than careful. They'll have to be lucky.

By eight-thirty everyone has gathered in Jim's office and been brought up to speed. Gabe remembered to bring his police scanner but still seems a little panicked at the idea of cops on their trail. Alona seems a little excited. Jim makes it very clear that he's not going to bail anyone of out jail if they get caught.

"Don't lose your GPS," Lindberg says. "I got a good deal. I programmed the drop-off to be ‘home' so you don't get lost. Don't fuck with it."

"We have twelve hours," Jensen tells everyone. "Keep your heads down, eyes on the prize, whatever motivational speech works for you. If you see anything out of the ordinary, you walk away. It is not worth getting busted. Any problems, call in. You make a delivery, call in. Keep in touch but don't be stupid. Got it?" Nods all around. "Any questions?"

"What if we get hungry?" Alona asks.

"Suffer," Chris says, at the same time Aldis suggests she pick up some snacks for the road.

"Don't go through a drive-through with a stolen car," Kevin says. "That's kind of basic."

"Or a plate-glass window," Murray tells Jared, who makes a bitchface.

In Jim's office, in the back of a bottom cabinet, is a shoebox, and in that shoebox are the tricks of Jensen's trade – a roll of tools, a small flashlight, a St Jude medal on a chain that his mother gave him when the rest of his family moved away from LA – and now, with the roll in a jacket pocket, the flashlight in another pocket, and St Jude under his shirt, he feels ready. He feels like himself, as good a car boost as he ever was. No rust on him, just the love of a good car and the anticipation of a good challenge.

And the security of Jared's safety.

"Frederick?" Jensen says. "A little prayer, if you please?"

Jensen is the one from the religious family, but Frederick is the one with the sense of ritual.

"Hands," Aldis says, holding his out to Alona on one side and Chris on the other. Lindberg pulls off his knit cap. Jensen bows his head, and feels Jared's hand on his arm.

"O Christopher," Frederick says, "patron saint of drivers, guide our hands on the wheel and our tires on the road. With your blessing, doors will open for us, engines will turn over, alarms will turn off, and prying eyes will be averted. May the GPS not lead us astray, and may your guidance bring us and our ladies safely home."

"And may Morgan stay off our asses," Chris adds.

"And may Morgan and his pretty partner stay off our asses. Amen."

Jensen looks up. Murray looks supremely unimpressed, but everyone else just looks ready.

"Let's do this," Jensen says. "Time to roll."

And they're out.

The first stop is a dealership warehouse for Emily, Louise, Melanie, Tanya, and Grace, and it is a piece of cake. Five down, forty-five to go.

Jensen drives himself and Jared to their next mark – Delilah, a 1962 Aston Martin DB1 – and once they've popped the door and cranked the engine, Jensen leaves Jared to the delivery and heads off on his own.

He feels like this is the culmination of every illegal thing he's ever done – this feeling of power and control, the knowledge that he has orchestrated the theft of fifty cars in twelve hours, he has brought together a crew with more combined years of experience than he can count on his hands and feet, he has pointed all these people in the right direction and let them go.

And he is once again doing the only thing he has ever been good at, the only career he has ever loved. He is back in business, and he is _happy_.

St Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes, rests against his sternum, under his t-shirt. A bad joke on his mother's part, an assumption, a presumed future. But his mother was wrong, and his cause is not hopeless. _He_ is not hopeless. He is going to clear Jared's debt with Sheppard. He is going to save Jared's life, and maybe win back his own.

It's an amazing feeling.

He meets up with Jared at the wharf where Sheppard is taking delivery of all his cars, and then they head out again. They listen to chatter over the walkie-talkie, Jared plays with his portable GPS, Jensen turns on the radio and then turns it back off. They talk some, they watch the road a lot. Jensen counts off cars in his head as delivery reports trickle in.

Amanda. Isabelle. Constance. Traci. Virginia.

He and Jared break into Penelope, a silver 1971 Volvo P1800 SE – _the Saint's car_ , he can hear Frederick telling them - and Jared kindly lets Jensen drive off in her, for the simple reason that Jared is bigger than she is, and he doesn't want to try and fold himself into her front seat.

And still Jensen listens to the names spilling from the walkie-talkie, each one another step towards his final goal.

Rosemary. Fleur. Karen. Cassie. Elizabeth.

His crew sounds excited too, and competent, and on the ball. He picks his people well, and so does Jared.

"Teresa was a hoot and a half." Alona. "She had steer horns!"

"Natalie's home, more's the pity." Aldis.

"Had fun with Tricia, on my way to fetch Julia." Chris.

Alice. Lindsey. Sandra. Rebecca.

He and Jared are back together, Jared having reluctantly dropped off Deirdre (a pink 1956 Ford Thunderbird), and they're on their way to collect Ellen. It's quiet in the car, this one a nondescript Mercury borrowed from one of Sheppard's guys so they can get from place to place without drawing attention. Every so often Jensen glances over at Jared, and when he does, Jared is smiling. Jensen feels both serene and excited, as if he's found the zen of car theft.

The silence is broken by Gabe's voice panicking over the walkie-talkie – "OH MY GOD THERE'S A BABY IN HERE OH SHIT OH SHIT GUYS WHAT DO I DO??" followed almost immediately by Kevin calmly suggesting he shut the fuck up so as not to wake it.

Jared is clearly about to make another suggestion – what, Jensen has no idea – when Gabe says "Wait, it's just a car seat, thank god." He sounds relieved. Jared looks at Jensen and rolls his eyes. If Jensen could, he'd reach through the walkie-talkie and smack Gabe upside the head.

Half an hour later Gabe has delivered the car – Shannon, a 2010 Lincoln Navigator – and Jared and Jensen turn onto Ellen's street and cruise up to her neighbor's driveway. There's a minivan on the far driveway that Jensen doesn't remember being there last night.

"Just wait for me to get in," he tells Jared, and slides out of the car. He walks across the grass to Ellen. Her key is in his pocket – Chris' friend Steve, who works at a dealership, got them duplicate keys for the Benzes – he knows how to disable her alarm, block her tracking software, and reset his GPS, but something doesn't feel right. The van is bothering him. Why would someone in this high-rent neighborhood have such an ordinary, boring, domestic minivan?

He's almost to Ellen's door when the hinky feeling becomes too much. He feels eyes on him, and they're not friendly eyes. He turns around and goes back to Jared and the car.

"I think that van was in a different driveway yesterday," Jared says, as Jensen gets in the passenger side.

That explains the hinky feeling. And the unfriendly strangers' eyes.

"Shit. It's Morgan. We gotta go."

As Jared pulls out of the driveway and takes off, Jensen turns on the walkie-talkie and makes the announcement he was hoping he'd never have to make – "The ladies have stalkers. Stop what you're doing and walk away. I repeat – walk away. Tell me you get it."

Everyone checks in except for Frederick, so Jensen calls his cell phone, repeats the message, and then tells Jared to drive faster.

There is (unsurprisingly) a significant amount of chaos in Jim's garage, and everyone is talking at once.

"This is your fucking fault," Murray tells Jensen, as he and Jared walk in. "That cop wants your ass."

"What happened, Jen?" Chris asks. "Did he get the list or was this a lucky guess?"

"There wasn't any chatter on the scanner," Lindberg says.

"He couldn't have seen the blackboard," Aldis says.

"And the desk was too messy to get anything from," Frederick adds.

"Did you guys have a blackboard?" Chris asks Jared, waving at Jim's board with half the cars crossed off. "With the list on it. Would the cops have found it?"

"Yeah, but we used a blacklight," Gabe says, sounding proud, "and broke all the bulbs before we took off."

"That there's our problem," Jim says. "That's how Morgan knows – must've figured that out and run a light over your board. He's got the same list we do, he'll be watching the same cars we are."

"Shit," Jensen mutters. But he should have known something like this would happen the second he stepped out of Mrs P's diner and ran into Detective Morgan on the sidewalk.

But how did Morgan know to watch Ellen? The 2009 Mercedes SL is a common enough car in LA. Why not Tricia, the '71 DeTomaso Pantera that Chris brought in? How many of those can there possibly be in Los Angeles? Or Penelope, the little silver Volvo? He would have known if someone was tailing him when he took her. Why Ellen?

"Chris," he says slowly, thoughtfully, "what are the chances the cops got to Steve?"

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Chris swears, and his reaction answers Jensen's question as much as any words could. "He told me he was clean."

"Guess not," Murray says.

"So what now? All the Mercedes are off the table."

"I can find a couple more," Lindberg offers, already starting to type on his laptop.

"No, we need the keys."

"We already boosted them," Alona says, " But the city impounded them. But we still have the keys." She points to Jared. "You have them."

"I. Yeah," he says, "I brought them here." He walks over to the counter and starts rummaging through the stuff on it until he comes up with a gray envelope and pulls three Mercedes key fobs out of it. "But the cars are in the impound lot."

"So we'll get them out of the impound lot." She grins like it's the simplest solution possible.

"It's _city impound_ ," Aldis reminds her. "Cops. Security. Fences. And did I mention the cops?"

"Car thieves." She points to herself and then Murray, Jared, Gabe. She's still grinning. "B&E, baby."

"No," Jensen says. "It's too risky. We don't have time."

"And finding three replacement cars is quicker?" Kevin asks. "We just need a distraction and we can steal them out from under the city's nose."

"We need those exact cars, Jen," Jared says. He points to the blackboard with one of the Mercedes keys. Jennifer. Alexa. Ellen. Two 2010s, one 2009. The key in Jared's hand unlocks an impounded car, evidence for a criminal investigation, and for all that Jensen wishes there was a better, easier way around this, he has to admit that Alona and Kevin and Jared are right – they need those three Mercedes, and if anyone can sneak onto the lot, find them, and drive them out, it's the people now standing in Jim's office.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, isn't that what they say? They're already looking at twenty-seven counts of grand theft auto, why not add breaking and entering and stealing police evidence to the list? The longer they stand around arguing, the faster time ticks down, the closer the deadline gets, and the more likely it becomes that Sheppard loses his cars and breaks the deal and Jensen doesn't want to think too closely about what happens after that.

"Ok," he says. "Alona, Kevin, Murray, Chris. Be quick, and _be careful_."

"You know what you're doing?" Jim asks him quietly, after the four have left.

"Does it matter? We've got twenty-three more cars and a little less than six hours to bring them in. That's what counts. I gotta go."

And once again he and Jared set out on their quest.

"I'm sorry," Jared says after about fifteen minutes.

"For what?"

"Fucking up."

"It's not your fault Steve rolled over for the cops."

"No, but.... I'm sorry you had to come back just to save my ass."

 _I came back for my guilt_ , Jensen thinks. _To atone for my sins._ "And I'm sorry for running off six years ago. We both screwed up, we'll both fix it. You were determined to do this with me, remember? But you picked some good people for your crew."

"I did, didn't I." Now he sounds pleased with himself, and when Jensen glances over, Jared's grinning.

Kevin reports in after the three Mercedes are safely away from the impound lot, and again when they're delivered. Jensen breathes out his relief, and the litany of girls' names continues over the walkie-talkie, the cars and his crew's truncated conversations and every so often a police report courtesy of Gabe's scanner.

Stella. Nadine. Wendy. Denise.

"Ashley's home. My girlfriend woulda loved her." Kevin.

"Brought Lila in, and Erin's on her way." Frederick.

"Dropping off Maddy right now. Madeleine, sorry. She looks like a Maddy." Gabe.

Susan. Patricia. Bernadette. Mary.

The sun is rising at his back as Jensen drives Catherine (a 1957 convertible Chevy Bel Air painted turquoise blue) towards the wharf, and he hears Aldis report in – "Just dropped off Leah, she was a pleasure" – mentally ticks the gullwing Mercedes off the list, and allows himself to think that maybe they can actually accomplish this. It might be the biggest concentrated boost LA has ever seen. In some circles, he can be famous.

And he can make it up to Jared for leaving him.

Now that he has some breathing room, some time to think, Jensen can't get Jared's face last night out of his mind – his hurt face and his angry words, the admission that he started stealing cars to bring Jensen back, the way he said "I missed you" and "You left me" and "I loved you".

 _I loved you too_ , Jensen thinks. _I always have. I still do._

They're so close to being finished, so close to delivering all of Sheppard's cars, so close to sewing up this mess and setting things right. And after nine o'clock, after the last car is brought in, who knows. Jensen will stay in Los Angeles, move back into Jared's mother's house, pick up where he left off. Maybe he'll actually stay on the right side of the law this time.

He counts off names as they're announced over the walkie-talkie, and he wonders if he even knows how to go straight with so much temptation around him, and if he really can be happy doing it. Because it was always the cars that kept him going, and only the cars that held the opportunities he wanted. One of the reasons he left LA was to get away from them.

Leslie. Jessica. Kimberley. Deborah. Diane.

And then there's only one. Eleanor. His albatross. Once almost his doom, hopefully today his salvation.

He has about an hour to get her to Sheppard, and he runs his hand over her hood and up her windshield and across her roof, as if she were a woman he's trying to seduce. There are objectively more stylish cars in existence, but there is only one Eleanor.

She is forty-four years old, sleek and black and three thousand pounds of Detroit steel and automotive muscle, and she is the most beautiful thing Jensen has ever seen.

"It's up to us now," he murmurs, carefully sliding his slim jim down inside the door and popping the lock. Eleanor's engine rumbles when he hotwires it, and he cruises out of the garage where her owner kept her and onto the street.

And as soon as he turns a corner, a black sedan, an undercover cop car, pulls in right behind him, a light starts flashing, and he curses.

"C'mon, baby," he says encouragingly, taking off down the street and rocketing around another corner, through a stop sign, an intersection, and a light, barely missing a delivery truck and a guy on a motorcycle.

And Morgan, the son of a bitch, is right behind him, stuck to his ass like he's glued there.

Jensen ignores the GPS trying to correct his trajectory and slips back six years, eight, ten, when he was younger and more reckless and knew these streets by heart. He learned to navigate by hazy landmark and by feel back then, driving at night and in the wee hours before dawn, the dead hours before the city and its people were fully awake. The years peel back like he was never gone, and his hands rest easy on Eleanor's steering wheel and gearshift, and his foot is heavy on the gas and quick on the clutch, and he takes every opening presented to him and makes them when they're not, and he's gone.

And Morgan follows.

Jensen maneuvers around four-doors and zippy little sportscars and semis, and he's sorely tempted to ram the wandering SUVs driven by assholes chattering on their cell phones.

"Get off your fucking phone and pay attention!" he yells at the window, as if that would do any good.

No matter. Eleanor is strong and fast and the first and last thing Jensen ever wanted from a car was speed, ever since he and Jared first became friends and Jared's dad was still alive and used to take them to the speedway to watch the drag races. Eleanor is fast and Jensen is deep into a driver's mindset, concentrating on the road ahead of him and the vehicles around him, cars and vans and buses and motorcycles and the occasional idiot on a bike.

He has never been so glad that LA is a driving city and not a walking one. Cars get out of your way. Pedestrians don't.

"Got chatter on the scanner," Lindberg says suddenly over the walkie-talkie. "Jensen. They're on to you."

"No fucking shit," he answers. "You all stay put. I'm gonna shake this guy."

Two police cruisers pull out of a cross street just ahead of him, and he hauls on the wheel, does a 180 – no doubt scaring the crap out of the person in a Jeep who just barely misses hitting him – and zips past Morgan who is now going in the wrong direction. Jensen waves.

The cruisers and their sirens manage to stay behind him until he loses them down an alley, shooting out into the street mere seconds in front of a bus. He can hear tires screeching and horns blaring as he speeds off.

The water is somewhere ahead of him, with Sheppard's shipping containers and the forty-nine cars Jensen and his crew have already successfully delivered.

It's a shame he has to turn Eleanor over to the asshole, but Jared's life is more than worth it.

And to have this one last chance to drive her, to feel the rumble of her engine and the tightness of her suspension and the responsiveness in her steering – to hear the wind rushing past him and see the asphalt unfolding beneath him – Jensen doesn't think he's ever felt so complete, so in charge, in his life.

He registers the appearance of another cop car, the sound of another siren, but even as his heart rate speeds up a touch and his hand tightens on the wheel, he isn't worried. Eleanor will see him through.

He turns north, west, trying to shake the cops, but a truck pulls out of nowhere and in trying to avoid it, Jensen scrapes against it and half-knocks the driver's side mirror off the door.

"Shit, shit," he swears. "I'm so sorry, Eleanor. I'll get it fixed, I promise."

The cop car is still behind him, and as he's worrying about the side mirror another cruiser appears and he no longer has time to think. He has to move.

He leans on the horn as he blows through a red light, both cruisers screaming behind him, and now he can see Morgan's car is back, and he has to get out of here.

He needs the freeway – no. It's Friday morning in Los Angeles. It's _rush hour_. He's not that stupid.

Well. He gave up six years of crime-free living for fifty cars and a British car thief who threatened to kill Jared's mom. Maybe he is that stupid.

Jensen can hear time ticking away, the minutes running down until his intelligence or lack of it won't matter. He doesn't have time to get Eleanor to the wharf – he'll have to take her to Sheppard's warehouse, the place Chris took him to meet the guy when Sheppard had Jared in the crusher.

There's traffic up ahead, an accident. He can't go around it and he's not going to get off the road and Morgan and his two – wait, three – buddies are too close behind him and he's losing time.

Traffic is light and cruising right along in the opposite direction. Jensen glances behind him, crosses himself, shifts gears, and swerves across the low concrete barrier. Horns blare and tires screech as cars get out of his way. He hauls ass the wrong way down the road, zooming past the accident, past cop cars and an ambulance and all the people backed up, and as soon as he's on the other side of it he swerves back into the right lane, scraping past a couple of cars where the opening isn’t quite big enough, and keeps going.

 _Thank you, Eleanor. That's why I always loved you best._

His heart is racing and the St Jude medallion is sticking to him with sweat and he's moving and he's moving and he's running out of time.

And then he's out of time.

And then he's driving into Sheppard's yard, pulling up in front of the warehouse, getting out of the car, and Sheppard's goons are trying to tell him he's late, no deal, and he's walking towards the warehouse and he thinks if he can just get inside, these guys won't shoot him, and if he can find Sheppard, they'll talk this over, and the deal will be done and he can settle Jared's debt and go home.

He can hear another car arriving behind him, but then he's in the door and he hasn't gone very far before Sheppard is right there.

"You're late," he says.

"Maybe your watch is fast," is Jensen's reply. His tone is cocky but inside he's trying not to panic.

"My watch is not fast. You are late. I said nine, it's no longer nine. We don't have a deal."

"What's five minutes between friends?"

"Are we friends now?" Sheppard walks to the door, peers out, and adds "I note some damage to the last car. So not only are you late, you've brought me damaged merchandise. And you've made it more difficult for me to get it to my buyer." He shuts the door and starts walking away. His phone beeps and he holds up a finger to indicate _Just a second, we'll continue when I'm done_ , and says "What?" into it, and then "Where's Pellegrino?" and then the warehouse door bangs open and Jensen is almost relieved to see Morgan framed by the morning sunlight.

"Mr Ackles," he says. "What a surprise."

Sheppard stares for a minute and then takes off. And Jensen follows, because he is an idiot and he needs to see this finished.

He can hear Morgan calling for backup and yelling at him and Sheppard to stop, and when Sheppard does finally stop and turn he's holding a handgun and Jensen throws himself out of the way so as not to get shot.

Sheppard runs up some stairs towards a catwalk. Jensen thinks he can see an office up there and screw this, he's getting the hell out of here and will fix things later, but Morgan grabs his shoulder, points at the stairs, and says "You go this way, I'll go that way, we'll catch him in the middle."

Morgan gives him a push and Jensen is so startled that he goes.

There is indeed an office at the top of the stairs, a room with doors on opposite walls, and Sheppard is rifling through a desk and shouting into his phone. His back is to Jensen. Jensen looks around for a weapon, something, anything, but the closest thing to hand that he might remotely be able to use is a straight-back wooden chair. He remembers that Sheppard has a thing for old furniture.

Just then Morgan appears in the far doorway of the room, and Sheppard looks up, sees him, and shoots at him. The shot knocks out a window instead.

"Sheppard!" Jensen yells, picking up the chair. He needs to be a distraction – he doesn't bear Morgan any love and never has, but he can't watch Sheppard kill him. When Sheppard turns, Jensen smashes the chair against the wall, breaking it into pieces. Sheppard howls and runs at him, and now Jensen grabs a leg from the busted chair and swings at Sheppard like he's holding a baseball bat.

 _You were going to kill me_ , he thinks. _You tried to kill Jared and you threatened his **mom**._

He catches Sheppard on the arm, Sheppard points the gun at him, and he trips over himself trying to get out of the way. Morgan is running towards them, Sheppard is pushing past Jensen out of the office, Jensen is getting to his feet and following.

"Ackles!" Morgan yells behind him. Jensen takes another swing with the chair leg, this time catching Sheppard across the back of his shoulders. Morgan fires over their heads, causing Jensen to duck and Sheppard to stumble towards the stairs, where he loses his balance and pitches face-first straight down.

Jensen stares. He didn't want to kill Sheppard, just stop him from shooting anyone. And maybe beat him up a little for his threats and attempted murder. He can hear Morgan walking up behind him, and turns his head to see Morgan staring as well.

"Huh," Morgan says. "I guess that's the end of my investigation. Well, no, we've still got his guys to talk to and all those cars as evidence. Look at all this paperwork." He pulls out a phone, punches in a number, says "Harris. Hey. We need a body bag in here." He looks at Jensen. "Just me and Sheppard. I'll wait." He disconnects the call. "Why are you still here?" he asks Jensen. "Go on, get. I'm giving you a second chance. Don't fuck it up." He points meaningfully towards the front of the warehouse.

And Jensen gets.

A couple days later he and Jared and the rest of his crew are back at Jim's, but this time to kick back and celebrate rather than plot and plan a crime. They're all in the back yard where Jim keeps his grill, eating and drinking and talking and laughing and arguing. Aldis keeps trying to offer Chris assistance and suggestions as he's grilling, and it's making Chris cranky because he hates people telling him how to cook. Jared is sitting to Jensen's left, calling for another burger and telling Lindberg to stop hogging the Doritos, and on his other side Kevin and Jim are discussing how best to introduce Kevin's girlfriend's daughter and Jim's daughter to each other. Frederick is apparently trying to educate Murray and Gabe on something, Jensen can't hear what, and Murray is clearly having none of it. And Alona, who disappeared a few minutes ago, now returns with more beer and the radio from Jim's office.

"Do I need to I plug this in?" she asks.

"Hasn't run off a battery since before you could walk," Jim says. "I don't know if there's an outlet out here that works, though."

"I'll test ‘em when I find ‘em. Where do I look?"

Finding a working outlet for the radio in a convenient enough place that they don't need to also find an extension cord apparently takes the entire crew, minus Chris who refuses to leave the grill under the suspicion that Aldis will take his place.

Frederick eventually digs up an extension cord anyway and plugs the radio into an outlet inside the garage. Bickering naturally ensues over what station to listen to. And yet when Jensen looks around at these people who helped him when he needed it, who are now arguing with each other over such a trivial thing, he feels lucky and grateful and very, very happy.

Everything will be ok. He kept his ass and Jared's out of jail so Mrs P doesn't have to disown either of them, and he got Morgan off his case, and he's back where he belongs.

And he made some new friends, and he can always use more friends.

"Oh, hey," Jared says to him, "I got you a present."

"Yeah? What? Why?"

"Because." Jared shrugs. "I wanted to." He pushes himself away from the table and stands up. Surprisingly, Jim does the same.

"Come inside, boys and girl," Jim says, waving everyone inside.

They follow him and Jared to the back of the garage where there's a car covered with a tarp.

"Here," Jared says, handing Jensen a keyring with a brass J and two keys hanging from it. One of them is a house key, identical to the one Jensen has kept in his wallet all these years, and he knows it opens the front door of Mrs P's house. His house too, now. The other is a car key.

Jim and Jared both yank the tarp off with a flourish, and underneath is Eleanor.

Her side mirror has been temporarily fixed, but she's dusty and scratched and has a ding over the left rear wheel and she could use a fresh coat of paint and no doubt a major tune-up. But none of that matters, because she's still right there in front of him, solid and real and apparently all his.

"How'd you..." he stammers, at a loss.

"You're not the only one who knows how to cut a deal," Jared says, grinning. "Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna take her out?"

"I don't... I can't...."

"Don't say you don't deserve her," Chris snorts.

"Man, if you don't take that car, I will," Murray says. Frederick smacks him on the side of the head. "What?"

Jim opens the driver's-side door and Jensen slides in.

He runs his hand across the dashboard. "Hello, gorgeous," he murmurs.

"She is, isn't she," Jared says, climbing in the passenger seat.

 _She's not the only one_ , Jensen wants to say, but before he can even open his mouth, Jared kisses him. Someone whistles, Jensen has no idea who, and he can feel Jared grinning against his lips.

"Come on," Jensen says, "let's go for a ride."


End file.
